


at your mother’s borrowed house

by craftingdead



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [21]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Minor Character Death, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Trans Female Character, lesbian loneliness, this is a incoherent MESS, weird pacing but im into it, you know that disconnection between mothers/motherhood that lesbians tend to have??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 21:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17495804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingdead/pseuds/craftingdead
Summary: The relationship between mothers and daughters, shoved between catalytic events and seemingly "normal" interactions. There is a strange peace in knowing you could never be a mom, despite the grief that comes along with it.





	at your mother’s borrowed house

They called her mother a beauty. Said that men fell at her feet, begging for a hand to kiss. That she chatted up college boys in high school, and left them to cry. That her thick, luxurious hair fell over her in all the perfect ways, framing her curves in all the perfect ways. She was curvy, fit into dresses like a glove, smelled like cherries and candies. And, when she was older, she heard family friends joke about the rumors, about her tongue wrapped around fingers, about a shirt cut too high with a collar too low and where she flaunted it, about booze and boys and late-night college parties that ended with her smelling like Aphrodite. How kind she was, how smart, how helpful. How perfect she was.

The party stories always made Jess’s mouth taste like cherry medicine. From the sour looks her mother gave, the taste was fresh in her mouth as well, narrowing her eyes at old school “friends” who liked to repeat the stories with every more glamor and glitz in the humid afternoon of a summer barbeque.

Everyone said it was a shame Lola Fenix only had three sons. Whatever daughter she may have would be a beauty, prettiest in the family, laughed their family, ignoring the girls of the family who looked away in self-consciousness and tried to ignore the sting in their hearts. No one called them pretty.

Her first son pushed up glasses with his index finger and laughed at crude jokes. Wore graphic t-shirts and played video games late into the night, screaming inappropriate words and phrases while everyone else was trying to sleep. He had a girlfriend who admitted too many times that she stayed for his family, and not him, but he was a good guy at heart, really!

He was. Jess knew that well. He might curse like a sailor and hang out with the wrong crowd but at heart, he was an angel. A dumb, smelly angel who liked to call her “Jessica” instead of Jess to piss her off and laughed when she glared up at him and ate too much pizza to be healthy, but an angel nonetheless.

Her last son was small and polite. Not as crude as his older brother. Got good grades, had decent friends, did track after school. But his heart was three sizes too big, and he spent too much time worrying about others when he should’ve been worrying about himself.

Jess tried to teach him that. She did, really, but he wouldn’t listen. Too much like his mother to listen.

Lola’s middlest-middle son was the kicker. Not tall, barely average, too feminine for a guy, looked too much like her mom for a guy, got called slurs at school, online, wherever she went. Got her friend suspended because some funny guy yelled “Dyke!” at her in the hallway. Got good grades but barely had the enthusiasm to prove it. Always shoved to the middle seat, while her brothers stared out of car windows and watched the signs go by.

Jess’s dad loved her, really, but he was also cruel and had a heart of shattered glass and hadn’t truly loved her mother in one too many years.

She still remembered what it felt like. Covered by light sheets and a purple comforter, lights in her room turned off and a lamp burning in the corner, illuminating the night. Cars drove past and honked their horns and the night was alive with sound. Her mother murmured downstairs.

Her older brother woke Jess by shaking her so hard stars danced in her eyes when they snapped open. He was absolutely panicked, eyes as wide as her, tears in the back of them. From downstairs, she could hear her younger brother pleading with someone and her dad yelling at the top of his lungs. Probably at him, Jess realized, as her younger brother went silent. She couldn’t even stutter out a “What’s going on?” before her brother was talking: “Mom’s gone. Took all of her stuff. Dad’s freaking the fuck out.”

How kind she was, how smart, how helpful. How perfect she was. Lola Fenix was the embodiment of amazing, gorgeous and generous and gentle. Cared for her children with soft hands and kind words.

Jess’s mother ran her hands through her hair when she was upset, braiding it into a perfect part only she knew how to do. “Do not worry, Sica,” she said, brushing her hair out of Jess’s eyes, “it will get better soon enough, trust me on this, baby.”

(“Jessie!” she slurred, an overfilled wine glass in her hand. It wasn’t even a wine glass, just some washed-up cup that they reused over the years and an empty bottle resting against her chair. It wasn’t unusual to find her mother like this, usually after her and her father had been arguing. Jess’s brother always complained that it fucked with his games, made it harder to hear the voice chat.

She forced a smile. “Yes, mom?”

“If you see him, can you ask your father to get me some aspirin, from the store? My head is pounding…”

Staring off into nothing. Jess crouched down near her mom and held her hand. “Ma, we have aspirin here, I can go get it for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this. Don't fret, I’ll get your father to do it.” She groaned and pressed a hand to her temple; nail polish was stained on the palm of it.

“It’s fine, Ma, I’ll get you some aspirin. And a glass of water.” With that, Jess stood up, straightened her skirt, and went to the kitchen to get her mom aspirin and a glass of water. Sometimes, even mother’s needed to be cared for. She never wants to become a mother.)

“Where did she go?” Jess yelled as she and her brother ran down the stairs. She pulled herself over the last railing and landed on the carpet before her brother could, and ran into the head of her brother. Pale as a ghost and shaking. Her muttered out a “Tried to talk to him” and braced himself against the wall.

Her younger brother didn’t answer. Her dad was yelling something into his phone? Probably—she didn’t wanna see his face. Her older brother ran into her.

“Fuck—I don’t know! Maybe she got drunk and headed out in like, a stupor? Maybe she was kidnapped? She wouldn’t leave us without telling you, Jessica, God—fuck! I really don’t wanna deal with dad while he’s pissed!”

“It’s February. If she’s out in the cold, she’ll freeze,” their younger brother whispered.

Her dad yelled something. Then yelled again. Stormed past them—much to the surprise of literally all of them—and took the stairs two at the time. “Get in the car, we’re going away for a while. I know why Lola left.”

“ _What the fuck,_ ” said her older brother.

“Where are we going?” Jess called out.

Her father didn’t respond until he got downstairs, holding a suitcase with a tote bag thrown over his shoulder. Then, he turned to look her in the eyes. There was something in his eyes—with a jolt, Jess realized it was fear. “Away. We’re going away for a while. See to it as a long-term family vacation, for God knows how long.”

“I have college! I go back in a week!”

“College isn’t important anymore. We _need_ to leave.”

(That was the longest car ride of her life. Shoved between her brothers, one cursing out his life and the other balls deep in a panic attack. Not even the phone between her sweaty hands could pump out enough music to drive away the growing panic as they watched other people flee from their houses as well, loading into cars and booking it away. One of them nearly collided with theirs.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Her older brother peeled his cheek off the window and gestured with his hand in annoyance. In the dim light of their car, she could see the screen of his phone flash with the dead battery sign, blinking up at her a few times before going pitch black. Hers was fully charged, thank God.

“That’s not important,” Dad said.

“Have either of you checked the news?” her younger brother asked.

The car went silent.)

* * *

Her older brother woke Jess by shaking her so hard stars danced in her eyes when they snapped open. He was absolutely panicked, eyes as wide as her, fear in the back of them. From outside, she could hear yelling and screaming and something thudding against the wall. Hard. A voice cut short (it sounded like her brother’s). She couldn’t even stutter out a “What’s going on?” before her brother was talking: “Something went wrong. There are people outside—Dad did something, I don’t know what. He did something _bad._ ”

She was sluggish and tired and hadn’t slept properly in two weeks and couldn’t handle this shit. She couldn’t hold her own weight in a fight. _We were just supposed to stay here for the night!_ “What the fuck? Dad did something?”

“He did something. That’s all I know.”

He was pacing and pulling at his head with wide eyes and breathing too heavy. Her older brother never acted like this. More yelling and he was hovering above her again.

“Jess.” He cupped her face with his hands. “Jess. If anything fucking happens, remember that I am your brother first and a bitch second. I love you so fucking much—no matter the shit I’ve done in the past, I love you so much and I loved Mom so much and goddammit never forget that. Never fucking forget that. Please? He smiled at her, fucking terrified, and Jess didn’t get a chance to squeak out an “I love you, too.”

A gun fired.

Jess reloaded her pistol and pointed it towards the wall, at the tiny chalk circles drawn and connected in the shape of a human body. A crude one, at that. That shot only landed by the side of the second circle, the lower torso, and she scowled. Was aiming for the chest.

Even the music pumping through her earbuds didn’t do enough to stifle the gunshots. This model was fucking old—from years and years ago, she was pretty sure. But it was the only thing she had to defend herself with. She had to get used to it.

Jess straightened her shoulders, set her feet, and raised the pistol, aiming for the chest. She fired. The gun kicked back in her hands, screwing up her aim, and instead slammed into the ceiling. The loose part came down in an explosion of paint and grime.

(In a dream, an explosion killed all her friends. She was the sole survivor, of now, and had crawled across the ruined battlefield with a hole in the side of her body. Lower torso.

She wasn’t the sole survivor. A boy, crumpled on the ground near her with blood spreading from his chest, staining his shirt, sobbing and shuddering on the ground. Almost too quiet for her to hear. She dragged herself across the ground and propped his head in her lap, running her hands through his brown hair. At least she could comfort one of them.

Barney was like her older brother. Crude and mean but funny and likable at the same time. Sky was too much like her to be either of them. None of her other friends really fit the roles as well.

Was this boy her younger brother? She couldn’t remember his name. Didn’t know what happened to him.

Was this the universe’s cruel idea of a joke? Sending a boy she knew with a name she knew to die in her lap, while her nameless brother leaves without a word? They look enough alike for it to sting, but different enough for her to separate the two. There are tears running down his face and she knows them well enough to know that he’s lost someone dear and close.

“Don’t fret,” she murmured. Combed through his hair, tangled and sticky with blood. Was this how her mother felt?

If this had never happened, could she have been a mother? Not to this boy, maybe, but to someone else? It sounded like paradise and hell. The disconnect from her and her mother was too strong—motherhood was fucking ruined. This was the goddamn brother she’d never had. “Please, stop crying.”

Still being chased by the wolf until death, red-scarfed Little Red Riding Hood went limp in her arm. Jess was the sole survivor. Jess woke up.)

**Author's Note:**

> you shovelled  
> the family plot, which is to say you  
> buried it, inside yourself along  
> with everything [else.](http://daedalians.tumblr.com/post/148573807540/in-kitchener-in-july-where-there-were-horses)


End file.
